


Finding the Flow, Minding the Sway

by mlyn



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlyn/pseuds/mlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's speaking in front of television cameras, and then there's being in a parade in front of an entire city. Phil is freaking out.</p>
<p>Carl and Geno have a plan to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding the Flow, Minding the Sway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allofthefandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/gifts).



> Great prompt, allofthefandoms! Fingers crossed this lives up to your hopes and dreams!

After the win, after the flight, after being awake for 42 incredible hours, they were finally home and Carl could sleep. He could sleeeeeeep.

 

 

They had a noon team meeting. Jen took pity on them and made it a conference call.

He felt like his skull had been scraped out with a spoon. He put a cold, wet washcloth over his aching eyes and listened to the call while lying in bed.

“So meet at Consol at 8 am sharp. We need to be in the vehicles by 8:45 so we can get to the start of the route. Everyone clear on that?”

There was a general muttering. Carl fought a grin to himself—a fucking _Cup parade_ , holy shit they’d won the damn _Stanley Cup_ —

“Everyone practice their beauty queen waves. We think it’s going to be an insane crowd. It’ll be hot, so we’ll have water runners between the vehicles. Please don’t get too drunk, we’re not the Blackhawks.”

Dales laughed aloud at that. There was an echoing round of chuckles on the line.

“At the end of the route we have a stage set up. The broadcasting guys will lead it, have people say a few things, thank the fans, et cetera. Think in advance about what you want to say. I know they’re going to have Sid speak, of course, but we also want the HBK Line up there. The Hockey Night Punjabi guys have flown in so we’ll talk to them about their Bonino call.”

“BONINOBONINOBONINOBONINO,” someone said loudly. Carl cursed and jerked the phone away at the explosion of groans and laughter. Was that Rusty? Christ, the kids had so much energy.

“All right, all right,” Jen was saying when Carl tried the audio again. “Coach and Jim will make some comments. We’ll have lots of photo ops with the Cup as well.”

Carl tuned out the voices as the call wrapped up. He was thinking back to the Shark Tank, how the place had almost emptied except for a few Pittsburgh fans, how it’d just been them celebrating with each other for hours. Lifting the Cup, touching it, kissing it. Holy shit, _they’d won the Cup._

“Okay, 8 am tomorrow. See you guys then.” There was a chorus of goodbyes as the call broke up. Carl said a quick “bye” and hung up. He sat up and pulled the washcloth off his eyes and went to find something for breakfast.

While he was eating a strip of bacon and waiting for his toast to finish, he checked his phone and found a text from Phil.

**_phil_ : think Jen was serious about making everyone talk?**

Carl licked his fingertips clean and unlocked his phone to reply.

**_Carl_ : I’m not sure. Probably? The fans really love the HBK thing. They will want to play it up.**

**_phil_ : shit. I really hate talking to the press. I don’t know if I can do it in front of a huge crowd.**

Carl didn’t really know what to say; there wasn’t much he could do in this situation, other than perhaps offer support. He texted a :-/ emoji and pocketed his phone, then pulled his toast onto his plate.

 

The thing was, Phil couldn’t get over it.

**_phil_ : do you know what you’re gonna say?**

**_phil_** **: I’m just gonna say “me too” after you guys talk.**

**_phil_** **: so you’ll have to go first.**

**_phil_** **: Maybe I’ll call in sick. Or injured.**

 

Carl read through the tweets, trying to think up a decent response, then gave up and called Geno.

“I know you don’t particularly like talking to crowds,” Carl said after they had exchanged greetings. “So how did you deal after your first Cup win?”

 

 

Carl hadn’t been to Phil’s condo more than a couple times, but he had the address saved in his phone and it was in a familiar area of Pittsburgh.

He met Geno outside the front door. Geno shoved his hands in his pockets while Carl rang the intercom and identified themselves when Phil answered. Phil paused for a long moment, then said “C’mon up,” and buzzed him in.

Stella was barking like a crazy thing when Carl walked up to the door. Phil opened it before Carl could knock.

“Hey,” Carl said, and lifted the six pack he was carrying. “Thought we could hang out.”

Phil eyed the beer and Geno for a minute before pushing the door open, revealing Stella in his other arm. “Sure.”

Carl scratched the top of Stella’s head as he walked in. It put him in close proximity to Phil, allowing him to smell the aftershave on his newly smooth face.

“Couldn’t wait to get it off, eh?” Phil said, his eyes on Carl’s mouth.

Carl blinked, wondering if he’d misunderstood, then caught on to Phil’s meaning. “Oh. Yeah.”

Geno snorted and closed the door, squatting to greet Stella when Phil set her on the floor.

Phil led the way into the condo. He got a bottle opener from the kitchen and handed it to Carl, who opened three bottles and followed Phil to the couch. Stella jumped up as soon as Carl sat down and settled herself in his lap. Geno sat on Phil’s other side, drinking from his beer, watching Carl.

“Hey Stell,” he said warmly as he stroked her back. She wriggled under his hand and he directed a grin at Phil.

“What brings you guys by?” Phil asked, taking a draw from the bottle.

“Just…thought we’d check in on you. I was talking to Geno today. Thought you might appreciate what he had to say.” He looked to Geno with that, trying not to think about how weird this was. Phil was tense and silent next to him.

Geno lifted his bottle in an unmistakable “go on” gesture.

Carl cleared his throat unnecessarily. “So I was talking to Geno earlier today about when the Pens last won the Cup.” He met Phil’s gaze. “How he wasn’t so comfortable with speaking in front of crowds.”

“Yes,” Geno said, smoothly picking up the ball. “And I tell him—“

“Wait wait wait,” Phil interrupted. He looked even more tense, white lines around his mouth. “Why am I getting ganged up on?” He looked between the other two.

“Is not like that!” Geno said firmly as Carl stammered a denial. Carl’s hands felt sweaty. _Fuck_ , he really didn’t want Phil to be hurt or offended…

Stella got up and crawled onto Phil’s lap, standing on her hind legs to lick his face. He petted her, using the excuse to look away from Carl.

“Just want to make you feel better,” Geno said, leaning forward to set his bottle on the coffee table.

“Just listen, please?” Carl tried for his best innocent, pleading expression. Phil still frowned but he didn’t protest again. He continued stroking Stella’s back as she settled down in his lap.

“So I tell Hags, Gonch helped me lots when we won Cup. He tell me, visualize you just talking to your best friends. Not strangers, not crowd. Pretend your friends right behind the first row of people in front of you.”

“What, no ‘Imagine them in their underwear’?” Phil said, his tone turning derisive. Carl’s stomach dropped and he took a sip of beer.

“Can do that, too,” Geno said, and gave a little chuckle.

“I think it’s good advice,” Carl said. He watched Phil’s face carefully. “We just want to be here for you. Not to make you feel bad. Hardly anybody likes public speaking. You’re not alone.”

“I know,” Phil said, and bent his head to Stella. He gave her a kiss on the top of her head and shooed her off his lap. He looked a little less upset, his face and shoulders relaxing.

“And Nick and I will be up there with you. You literally won’t be alone.”

“Yeah,” Phil said absently. He stood and paced to the edge of the living area. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Carl met Phil’s gaze, knowing his forehead was scrunched up with worry. “Are you mad?”

Phil blew out a breath and picked at the label of his beer, starting to pace.

“Not—I dunno. Maybe.” Phil took a long drink and glanced at the two of them as he moved back and forth in front of the couch. He spoke haltingly, as if talking about this was physically difficult. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“How would you?”

“I—“ Phil cut himself off again. He shook his head.

“Phil.” Carl put his bottle on an end table and leaned forward, his hands spread, palms open. “The fans fucking love you. The team loves you. How in the fuck could you make a fool of yourself?”

“I just—I don’t want them looking at me.” Phil drained his beer, his throat working. Carl felt an ache in his own throat. He stayed silent, sensing that Phil might say more if he just listened and didn’t try to pry it out of him.

“I need another beer,” Phil said, and abruptly went back to the kitchen.

Geno got up and Carl followed him, standing back while Phil rustled in the drawer for the bottle opener, opened the fresh beer, and took another long drink.

“You’re worrying me a little,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well…” Phil put the bottle on the counter and braced his hands on the edge, pushing back like he was stretching out. “I don’t talk about this.”

“About what?” Geno waited for him to continue. When Phil didn’t, he ventured, “We should go?”

“It’s—I don’t want people to see me around you guys. How I act when you’re around.” He directed this at Carl.

“What do you mean? You act totally normal.”

“No, I—“ Phil shook his head and looked at Carl sidelong. “I really don’t. I can’t help it.”

Carl couldn’t think of what to say, so he reached out to pat Phil on the shoulder. To his surprise, Phil jerked away.

“Phil,” he said, stunned. “I’m…I—we didn’t mean to offend you. Did we?”

Phil made a soft sound like a groan and shook his head. He stared at the floor, crossing his arms.

“C’mon. You’re my bro. Let’s hug it out.” He put on a confident air, deliberately going for the usual things a teammate would do, the way they would sound. But this was him and Phil, and it was a whole lot more important than just teammates.

Phil dropped his arms and took a step forward, Carl meeting him halfway. Carl wrapped his arms around him, and Phil seemed to just go boneless.

He put his head on Carl’s shoulder, a shaky exhale brushing over Carl’s throat. Carl tightened his arms and rubbed Phil’s shoulders, squeezing the nape of his neck in reassurance.

Geno came in and wrapped his arms around both of them, enveloping Phil from behind. He was tall enough that he could hook his chin on Phil’s shoulder.

It seemed like they stood that way for several long minutes, but Carl didn’t mind. He liked the way Phil felt against him, warm and solid and smelling like aftershave and deodorant and shampoo. He could feel Geno’s heart beating quickly, the pulse reverberating against the back of his hands on Phil’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and turned his face into the back of Phil’s neck, pressing his nose into his hair, still kind of thick and shaggy from the post-season.

Phil stirred and they pulled back. Carl was already regretting the separation. But Phil didn’t go far. He stood there with their faces just inches apart, his breath coming quicker. He stared at Carl’s mouth.

Carl licked his lips and heard Phil make a tiny sound.

They worked well together, on instinct and through so much individual experience. Carl trusted himself, he trusted Geno, and he trusted Phil.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Phil responded immediately, perfectly, pressing his mouth into Carl’s and closing the space between them. His arm tightened around Carl’s waist again and Carl made a pleased sound. Kissing was nice, but being held was even better.

Stella’s barking eventually broke their concentration, and Phil sighed as he pulled away. “Stell, c’mon!” he yelled into the living room. Then he cast a look at Geno, who was just standing with his hands on Phil’s hips.

“My turn,” Geno rumbled, and Phil made a surprised sound against Geno’s mouth. Carl grinned, watching Geno’s full lips move carefully against Phil’s.

“She’s just jealous we’re making out with her man,” he said with a chuckle.

Phil blinked as Geno pulled back, but then a smile crept across his face. “Oh yeah? That what this is?”

“Well, what would you call it?” Carl murmured, watching Geno go back for another kiss. He could feel Phil relaxing, the tension draining out of his body. His arousal was mounting, keeping him alert, but not tense.

Phil might have some secret thing for Carl, but the more surprising thing was how on board with this _Geno_ was. He was really into the kissing, sucking on his lips and using his teeth and tongue until Phil was making desperate noises and pushing him into the countertop.

Then Geno nudged him away. He was gentle and looked like he regretted doing it, but he was also out of breath when he looked at Carl. His mouth worked for a second.

“Getting him all riled up for me?” Carl jumped in, putting a playful note in his voice. Phil’s grip on Geno’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he looked over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Phil said immediately, automatically. Geno snorted and shook his head while Carl clicked his tongue.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Carl said pertly. “Let me see if we’ve got this straight. You’ve been freaking out because you’re scared that if you go to the parade and try to relax, you’ll let your guard down.” He spoke quickly, letting his mind jump from realization to conclusion, one after another. “And you think everyone has noticed you making googly eyes in my direction? So you’re worried the team will figure it out, and the fans too, and that people are gonna care? Instead of just be happy for you, happy for all of us. Not just for realizing feelings and kissing and stuff, but for winning the freaking _Stanley Cup.”_

“Well when you put it that way,” Phil mumbled. His face was bright red.

Carl laughed and snagged him by the front of his polo shirt, reeling him back in. “I had an idea about the parade,” he said between kisses. Phil’s hands came up and rested on his hips, and god, that was so great. “Which is pretty basic and simple, and I’ll tell you about it later. Right now we have other ideas.”

“I’d like to—mmph—” Phil said against his mouth. Geno was working on the edge of his shirt, drawing it up while Phil was occupied. “I’d like to hear ‘em.”

 

 

Phil walked between them through the parking garage under Consol, but he slowed as they approached the elevator. “What are we going to say?” he asked, looking between the two of them.

Carl looked at Geno for a moment, then shrugged. “I just asked Geno for advice on how to make you feel better. More at ease, doing the parade and the press and everything. I’m going to ride with you today, so you’ve got a buddy in the truck.”

Geno raised an eyebrow but nodded approvingly. “Okay. Is good idea.” He chewed one side of his mouth. “Have to be in a separate truck,” he said regretfully. “Jen said.”

Carl offered a giant grin and flipped his sunglasses down over his eyes. “It’s okay. We’ll make it work.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Shindell's "Last Fare of the Day."


End file.
